


Repeat Ad Infinitum

by calcifie



Category: All You Need is Kill - Sakurazaka Hiroshi, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: All You Need Is Kill / Edge of Tomorrow AU, F/M, Gen, I really don't know what to tag this but i'm still working out the kinks, Violence, jeankasa - Freeform, past!markasa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calcifie/pseuds/calcifie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What does cool ranch taste like?”</p><p>Jean was out of ammo, a large part of his helmet (and a good part of his skull) was fractured, and he was bleeding out on foreign soil.</p><p>He was one hundred and ten per cent sure that he was going to die, and the last thing he would hear was the Full Metal Bitch, with her gunmetal red Jacket and axe, asking him about a potato chip flavour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Initial Contact

**Author's Note:**

  * For [volti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/volti/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> this is my first fic, all feedback is encouraged and welcomed~
> 
> i'm calcifie on tumblr too.
> 
> many thanks to Selena and Sahar for keeping our tiny jeankasa ship afloat ; 7 ;

“What does cool ranch taste like?”

Jean was out of ammo, a large part of his helmet (and a good part of his skull) was fractured, and he was bleeding out on foreign soil.

His viewfinder was shattered, but he killed the monster that had damaged his weaponized battle suit before it could land the final blow. One of the Mimic’s projectiles had damaged the mechanics his right leg. Pain coursed through his body, and he was begging whatever was up there to just finish him off.

He was one hundred and ten per cent sure that he was going to die, and the last thing he would hear was the Full Metal Bitch, with her gunmetal red Jacket and axe, asking him about a potato chip flavour.

 _‘What a fucking great way to die’_ , Jean thought as he blacked out for the last time.  
\---

He wrote down his for the United Defence Force at the first posting of an enlistment call. He had nothing to lose. His beloved mother passed away at the earlier sightings of the Mimics, when no one knew that they were to wipe out a third of the world’s population..

Jean Kirshstein was signing up for a war that sent most soldiers home as a dog tag.

Jean had a bright future, a freshman at a local university. He had dreams and aspirations of taking care of his family, maybe meeting a nice girl while studying and settling down.

That all came crashing down on him, the moment his mother was killed.

She was walking along the small sandbar by their seaside cottage at the crack of dawn, a routine of hers after his father died. One of the creatures crawled out from the shore and shot a javelin from the vents that protruded from its disgusting torso. When Jean saw her body at the morgue, her eyes were wide open with shock, frozen in the moment when she was impaled by the spear. He couldn’t get himself to close them and walked out with his eyes misty, and head pounding with anger. The police deemed it an accident, even when four more people living on the seaside ended up the same way.

The world plunged into mass panic and hysteria as the real cause of the deaths made itself seen. Jean’s mother and those in the area had not been an isolated case. Reports from around the world came in; censored pictures of men, women and children with holes in their torsos and heads flooded dominated the news channels and the Internet. Looking like the corpse of a bloated frog with four legs, the monsters were merely urban legends at first. Governments all through out the world were caught off guard when they came in hoards, filling their coasts with the smell of decay and leaving a trail of human bodies with spears through their chests.

The creatures were called Mimics because they imitated every weapon the humans used against them. From their grotesque bodies, they formed javelins, bullets and fired even lasers from their vents.

When regular guns and munitions were ineffective against the freaks of nature that chose to terrorize the planet, the heads of state defence from all across the globe pooled their resources together and developed a new type of weapon, a suit that that encased the soldiers in metal, making them human killing machines. Armed to the teeth, men and women were sent out to destroy the bastards before they got to the civilian zones.

Humanity was on its knees but they wouldn’t go down until the last commando was blown to bits by the Mimic projectiles.

The world council was desperate to stop their advance at Kotoiushi, an island in the Boso Peninsula. It was only a short distance from Tokyo, and if the Mimics’ were to take the island, it was all over. The US military sent out a call for men and women to sign up and participate in the last stand.

\---

The new recruits landed at the Okinawan Navel Base three months before the projected D-Day. They would be trained to operate the battle suits, known as Jackets. Most of the fresh meat had no prior military experience, but the government insisted that a Jacket could be used by anyone with enough training.

Drills were backbreaking; those who could not get past the first month of physical training were relegated to the reserves where they would be sent out in case the Jackets failed to hold the Mimics back.

Jean was part of the track and field team in high school, and sporadically went to the gym when he entered the university. He could barely keep up with the exercises, but after a month and a half of rigorous drilling, he was deemed suitable for operating a Jacket.

At first glance, Jean was reminded of the metal suit that a superhero from his childhood wore. When he stepped into the fitting chamber to calibrate his Jacket, he felt like he was stepping into a steel coffin.

A loud sound off signified all present to stand at attention. Falling into line, he stood ramrod straight, hands clasped behind his back and faced forward.

The Valkyrie, led the Japanese Special Operations as they passed through the Jacket holding bay, Mikasa Ackerman, the woman who killed the first Mimic at the Battle of Paloma. Government officials hailed her the Angel of the Battlefield, as she slayed the first hundred Mimics in the history of the war.

Those on base nicknamed her the Full Metal Bitch, partially because of her frigid demeanour, but mostly because she was the pampered pet of the high brass.

She was definitely a looker though. Most soldiers had their hair cut close to the scalp, but apparently her perks included allowing her to keep her hair in a messy bob. Her tank top revealed the toned arms and showed off muscular but svelte figure.

“I’d definitely hit that,” one of the recruits beside Jean murmured under his breath.

Mikasa held up her right hand and the Spec. Ops. stopped their advance.

She turned sharply and walked right into Jean’s line of vision.

“What did you say, private?”

Speaking in evenly intoned Burst English, a simplified, abbreviated version of American English; the Full Metal Bitch stared Jean down with a frosty glare.

“Nothing ma’am,” Jean replied quickly, hoping his voice didn’t crack. If he was alive after this, he was going to beat the shit out of the guy who couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself later.

“Good. Now, drop and give me an iso push-up for the next hour."

As Jean started the next painful hour on his hands, he pondered on the possibility of seeing Mikasa again. Even if it meant another grueling round of physical training.

He would find out soon enough.


	2. Cataclysm

Jean woke up to an old Japanese enka song playing on the radio. The singer was wrapping up her song, finishing with a long, melancholic note. The unseen audience started clapping. The tinny sound of applause grew softer, and Edith Pilaf’s ‘Non Regrette Rien’ began.

 

He knew the song before Edith started singing; it was a favourite of his mother before she passed away. She often played it on the relic of a gramophone that they kept in the sitting area. “It reminds me of your father. It was our song, the one that played in the living room of his mother when I first came over for dinner,” she told him once, looking out the window sadly.

 

The memory replayed itself in Jean’s sleep addled brain.

 

He gradually opened his eyes and sat up. The true crime paperback he had been reading the night before slid down his chest and fell to the floor. He was a bit disoriented even though he had grown accustomed to waking up early.

 

“Shut that old piece of crap up, it’s fucking two in the morning!”

 

Jean could tell by the foul language that it was Reiner Braun, a solidly built line backer from Chicago. He was a good guy with a short temper and a dirty mouth.

 

The radio cut to static, and there was nothing but silence in the barracks.

 

Jean pressed his palms into his sockets, trying to regain some feeling of consciousness. He could see the dim glow of ‘02:00’ that was displayed on the digital clock at the front of the room.

 

The outline of those numbers swam around the back of his eyes, and remained there until sleep took him once again.

 

* * *

 

When Jean woke up again, he noticed the date on the clock.

 

April 21.

 

Only a month left until the final attack.

 

One month until the fight that could serve as the salvation of humanity, or the beginning of its extermination.

 

Tensions across the globe were rising. Some costal guards were trained to operate the Jackets to protect those who stubbornly refused to move inland.

 

Sergeant Levi C. Ackerman (Jean now knows his name after being lectured for “his” misconduct in the Jacket bay), their drillmaster, pushes the recruits until their muscles are sore from physical training, until their legs are short of breaking from running the base seven times.

 

It was about six in the evening when the recruits were dismissed. Caked in mud and drenched in sweat, the platoon was exhausted and could barely make it to the barracks. Jean only thought of passing out on his bottom bunk and not wake up until they actually had to fight the Mimics.

He was about to catch up to the other recruits when he passed the simulation centre.

 

The area was outfitted with robots that reflected the Mimics’ recorded movement patterns. Personnel used this gym to practice their reflexes and reaction times, without the use of the Jackets. Jean hadn’t seen the inside of the centre but curiosity got the better of him and he slipped in when he saw the light on.

 

Not to his surprise, at the other end of the centre, there stood Mikasa. She had activated the simulation routine, and had a black blindfold across her eyes.

 

 _“She’s got to be a masochist, crazy or both,”_ Jean thought a bit worriedly.

 

Even for the Valkyrie, the course would mean suicide if the person running through it couldn’t see.

 

Mikasa took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

 

Jean held himself back from slamming the emergency stop button beside him.

 

She started moving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! i update relatively quickly.... ;;
> 
> drop me a line or a prompt on tumblr (calcifie)!~ 
> 
> thanks to villa-nelle for being my kind proofreader

**Author's Note:**

> all you need is kill was one of the first sci-fi books i read when i entered high school and it started my thirst for japanese science fiction. the movie 'edge of tomorrow' was in the works for years and it finally came out last year so yeah.... 
> 
> to be continued?


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